Jarvis Moonlights
by Janinne
Summary: Jarvis has two jobs. Peggy deserves two happy endings.
1. Chapter 1

At the chime of the grand, absurd doorbell, Peggy crossed acres of dining room and drawing room to answer it.

"Good morning, Mr. Jarvis. There are labor laws in this country, you know. Don't you at least get Sundays free?"

"Certainly, Miss Carter. Barring local or national emergency, of course." The corners of his mouth quirked up. "I realized that I neglected to inform you of one feature of your new home. It may prove useful to you. Do you have a moment?" Peggy followed him out to the private lift.

"On the floor below this one, the property includes a fairly well-appointed gymnasium." The elevator door opened directly into an enormous room stocked with mats, weights, even a full-sized boxing ring. Peggy's recent experience on the ledge outside the Griffith prompted her to give the 4-foot-high balance beam a wide berth.

"I don't mean to imply that your combative skills require improvement, Miss Carter. However, it is my understanding that maintenance of those skills may preserve your life."

Bemused, Peggy gazed up at the boxing ring. "It looks extremely useful, Mr. Jarvis, and a cut above what the SSR has. Thank you. I'm uncertain how I'll hone those deadly fighting skills without a sparring partner, though."

"I can provide assistance with that, Miss Carter. In fact, I am certain that you will feel the need to knock me out momentarily. I must tell you something."

Peggy sighed. What now? Well, it had been a quiet three weeks. She smiled in spite of her question. "What fresh crisis awaits us, Mr. Jarvis?"

Jarvis held very still and looked at Peggy. "Mr. Stark is not my sole employer."

Peggy squinted at him, trying to make sense of the words. "Oh Bloody Hell! You're with MI6!"

"How did you realize it so quickly?" Jarvis looked worried.

"It's obvious, now, isn't it?" Peggy fumed. "You play-act the caricature English butler. I thought your clowning was just self-deprecation, humor you needed to get you through your job. But your buffoon mask slipped occasionally. When the SSR threatened to deport you, you nearly broke cover, didn't you?"

"Yes. If I had done so, my assignment would have failed, and Anna and I would have in all likelihood been sent back to England."

"Oh good grief. Is your wife an agent, too? That's a rather romantic idea, actually."

"No." He smiled sadly. "She is not. Neither is she definitely aware of my position, though the carelessness of my superiors has, on occasion, made her suspect."

"What is your assignment, then? Spying on Howard? Did England think he was a traitor, too?"

"They thought his motives might be questionable. When my crimes on Anna's behalf brought me to Mr. Stark's attention, MI6 assigned me to encourage his trust. Please understand, Miss Carter, I have attempted to make the best of an intolerable situation. Howard Stark's inventions, aside from those we've encountered most recently, have done a great deal of good. Some of his future endeavors will do even more to better the world. He needs protecting. My superiors may not see my assignment in that light, but that belief guides my actions."

"You do realize you're inviting a noose round your neck, telling me this?"

"Yes. I could not continue lying to you. Perhaps that makes me a lesser agent or a weaker man, but I could not repay your trust and assistance with this continuing sham. I also find myself in need of the very support I insisted you should accept. It has been a very long six years, Miss Carter. This short time I've been able to work with you has been the most rewarding of my life. I beg you to consider carrying on our unique and complicated ventures together. Please. I believe we can serve not just the interests of two countries, but the larger world."

As if in apology for this sentimental declaration, he added, "I assure you that I was not a starry-eyed idealist before I met you and witnessed your own remarkable capacity for hope."

"Good lord." Peggy saw Jarvis' face flushed with desperate hope and fear together. "I shall miss antic clown Jarvis, but you'll do. Get suitably dressed and meet me in the ring at noon, Scarlet Pimpernel."

His relieved grin was followed shortly with his comment, "I feel impelled to point out that your choice of code name lacks a certain level of masculinity."

Monday morning. Half-awake after spending the night dwelling on her world's new madness, Peggy stepped into the SSR office. She was met with a variety of smirks from the men already there, as if all were sharing a private joke at her expense. Except Daniel, who looked chagrined before he looked away entirely.

Oh, good. Another practical joke. An adorable yet irritating result of her colleagues' new esteem for her was their need to prove she was 'one of the boys' by devising a sequence of adolescent pranks. Variations on these japes could be found in most English boarding schools, and she had dealt with each expeditiously.

As she reached her desk, she heard Jack call, "Hey, Peg, c'mere a minute." A memory of professional formality made her long briefly for England, but the feeling passed. She would have no profession in England, so formality would have to give way. As she entered the office, Daniel followed, and closed the door.

Glee bubbling from his voice, Jack announced, "The SSR has been invited to cooperate with MI6."

Oh, dear. Not a practical joke.

Jack continued gloating, "Really, we invited them to cooperate with us. The U.S. has decided to not lock up or hang their spy, and in return, he's going to work with us. For us."

Peggy kept her face carefully puzzled, waiting.

"The MI6 spy is Edwin Jarvis."

Peggy smiled patiently. She'd had time to prepare her approach, thanks to Jack's bloviating. "Isn't it rather late for April Fools'?"

"Nope. It's real. Washington's SSR chief had to take 15 minutes telling me, before I believed him."

"Someone is pulling your leg, Jack."

"You can hear it from the horse's mouth in another hour. Agent Jarvis is heading here for debriefing."

That was unexpected. Peggy didn't need to feign puzzlement at that. "Why would MI6 do such a thing? Was Mr. Jarvis suspected by Washington?"

Jack had no idea, but he wasn't going to admit that. "From what the D.C. chief told me, it sounds like London got their knickers in a twist over an immigration query. Somebody was trying to track down Anna Jarvis, born Anna Breuer. Now, why MI6 thought their spy might be exposed by some random war refugee, that's our new mystery. And in case our new recruit can't shed light on that, our Hungarian Sherlock here's on the case." Jack's grin stretched wider and Daniel rolled his eyes just as Jack's phone rang. "That'll be London, I'll bet. Shoo, find me some answers."

"He's far more tolerable when he's unhappy," Peggy remarked as she shut Jack's door. "What did he mean by 'Hungarian Sherlock?'"

"Maybe we'd better talk in the conference room." Relieved it was empty, Daniel put down the file he was holding and they sat down. "When my parents came here in 1916, my father thought he should shorten the family name to something more American than Szabolcsi. John Philip Sousa was his favorite American patriot, making the greatest American music. So, he picked Sousa. He loved that music. He had me playing the trombone from the day I could carry it." He smiled at a memory. "I was lucky he didn't insist on the tuba. It turned out he'd traded a Hungarian name for a Portuguese one. Maybe that makes it even more American - an instant melting pot.

"Anyway, when they left Budapest, they left behind my uncle, aunts, and more cousins than I know. Three of them work in city government there. I've been on the phone with them since Jack called me in here at dawn. I've spoken more Hungarian in three hours than I had in three years.

I've been trying to track down a history for Anna Breuer." He looked ashamed for doing his job. "There isn't any."

"Daniel, paper records are not bomb-proof. I'd be astonished if my own birth certificate made it through the Blitz. And Jewish families... It could take years to track what became of them. I doubt you need be so worried about this." Daniel's grim expression seemed to be contagious, though, and Peggy looked through the thin file in search of some reassurance.

"Nothing in there predates the month Jarvis came to Budapest. Her pay record started then. The hotel where she worked, it's still open. The tailor shop's gone, but my youngest cousin found a porter who remembers her. He remembers how a tiny, pretty young woman fought off a male attacker two blocks from the hotel. He saw the guy's neck broken. That porter's still terrified, even after making it through the war."

"Your cousin sound like an excellent detective." This bizarre narrative was leading to an impossible conclusion.

"Yeah. I'm going to owe him a month on the town in the Big Apple. He'll find out soon enough he's bunking on my glamorous secondhand easy chair." His try at joking didn't reach the funereal look on his face.

Peggy stated out loud the impossible thought. "We have to tell Mr. Jarvis he married a Russian agent."


	2. Chapter 2

Jarvis was certain the three o'clock phone call must be from Miss Carter. In addition to a satisfying rush of anticipation for their next adventure, he felt relieved. Clearly, she must not resent him for the enormous and necessary facade he had maintained. She'd forgiven him, and a new mission was at hand. He reached for the telephone all eagerness, and only at the last moment remembered to keep his voice down, to avoid waking Anna.

It was not Miss Carter. It was London calling. He could hardly believe it, after so long a silence. Someone had begun making pointed inquiries into Anna's past, and his cover was being re-evaluated. In light of Agent Jarvis' paltry intelligence-gathering of late, as well as the delicacy of current U.S.-British relations, the Home Office felt he should begin cooperative fieldwork with the SSR. His superiors were aware of an Englishwoman now working for the SSR who might serve as an excellent go-between. Her name was Margaret Carter. Jarvis stifled a snort. "I'm sorry for the early hour, old chum, but I felt I should give you a heads-up, before I called the SSR chief in Washington."

"Of course." Freddy was such an ass. Old chum.

"Well, all right then. Good luck to it." With that, his first communication with London in years ended. He returned to bed, certain he'd have not one moment's sleep between now and dawn.

After a desultory meal in the too-bright breakfast room, the phone rang. Jarvis scowled at it. He smothered an irrational urge to throw the offending device out the window. "Jarvis residence," he growled.

"Hello, Agent Jarvis. This is Chief Agent Jack Thompson with the SSR. I think you remember me, right?" He didn't wait for a reply. "Your unusual sideline job's just come to our attention, and I'd like you to report to my office. For debriefing. Now."

"Certainly." The word like glass breaking.

"Great. See ya in an hour." The line went dead.

Anna called out from the kitchen, "Edwin! Have you to start work so early?"

"I'm afraid so, my dear." She came back to the table, a small towel draped over her hand. "It may involve our immigration status." He hated to be the cause of her worried frown, but she had a right to some forewarning, if their lives were about to be turned inside-out on London's whim.

"Can you not call Howard?"

"This may be beyond his reach." He leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "I may be fretting over nothing, dear, but you should know, just in case." At that, the doorbell rang.

"Everyone is awake so early, today." Anna turned toward the front hall.

Prophesying upon "Chief" Jack Thompson's likely impatience, Jarvis interjected, "I'll get it, darling." Later, he would berate himself that he hadn't even glanced through the windows beside the door to check on his caller's identity. Too many years with too little needed caution were all at once called to account. He opened the door. The woman who'd briefly called herself Dottie Underwood stood before him.

"Hiya, Mr. Jarvis!" She pointed a gun past his shoulder as a fist like miniature a tank crushed his jaw, and he fell. He was dimly aware of cracking sounds that split the air. The large hammer pounding hid head made him grateful he'd skipped most of breakfast, but he did regret his excellent coffee. He fancied he heard Anna's voice nearby, but but she was speaking the jumbled sounds of a gibberish language.


	3. Chapter 3

Peggy jumped from the car before it skidded to a halt beside the Stark mansion. The side door leading to the Jarvis' quarters was open, and a tall woman stood in the entry, her back toward the drive. Peggy heard gunshots within the house, and drew her weapon. The tall woman turned, and Peggy saw the former Dottie Underwood recognize her, smile and fire just as Peggy fired a round. A small neat hole appeared in the center of Dottie's forehead, and she fell.

Peggy was already running for the house when she heard Jack say, behind her, "Nice shot, Carter." She was finding it hard to breathe when she stepped over Dottie's body and saw two more lying in the front hall. She was too late. Mr. Jarvis was facing the wall beside a small pool of blood. Jack and Daniel had come in behind her, and were checking on the doll-like woman lying in a great deal more blood farther from the door. Daniel pulled himself up from where he'd been crouched down, his ear by the tiny woman's mouth. Jack looked up, shook his head.

Daniel whispered, "She just said, 'I wanted to be Anna.'"

"Is she..." Peggy couldn't finish. She sank to the floor, gasping, and she finally glanced down at herself and saw why her breath was short. She was shot. Dottie hadn't missed. Just before her eyes dropped shut, she noticed Mr. Jarvis' chest moving. The blood she'd thought came from a gunshot wound was pooled beneath a gash on the back of his head. Comforted, she drifted away into peaceful oblivion.

Harsh white lights made her squeeze her eyes shut, directly after opening them. A scruffy, rumpled yet familiar shape was looming too tall over her. "You need a shave, Howard."

"Oh. Right. Oh, boy." A voice deeper than Howard's. Odd. Perhaps she should be more concerned about where she was waking up, and the foggy, vaguely dizzy bliss surrounding her. She didn't care. Peggy hadn't felt this relaxed in years. She turned away from the spoilsport overhead light, looked out at the familiar scene below Howard's penthouse. He had a lovely view of the Empire State Building.

And many more glossy, garish buildings that were entirely unfamiliar. "What in the world?" She lurched up from what looked like a rolling hospital bed, about to yank off the wires that were attached to far too many intimate spots.

"Please! Please, Miss Carter! You're safe." A young man in a lab coat patted the air in front of her. "Please try to be calm."

Peggy heard the unshaven not-Howard snort. He brought her a drink from an enormous bar. "You're gonna want this, in a minute, Aunt Peg."

Now it was her turn to snort. "Aunt, is it?" Peggy looked from Howard's scruffy doppelgänger to the bar, and back to her own disheveled hospital gown. "Howard appears to have remodeled his penthouse. Combination nightclub and hospital, hmm? I'm sorry, gentlemen." She took the drink, now game. "I've reached my absurdity limit on this dream." She took a half gulp, then a full one. "Thank you." She handed the glass back to scruffy 'Nephew.' "This all looks very amusing, but I have work to do. It's time I woke up."

"Yeah about that." Scruffy-man cringed. "You just did, Aun—. Agent Carter. You just woke up."


	4. Chapter 4

"Bring her back you thoughtless drunken ass." Jarvis held his voice to a deadly monotone.

Howard looked up, startled, from the reams of notes that covered every flat surface in his lab. He'd been explaining the calculations that had let him send Peggy forward in time, for Pete's sake. How he'd done it, the How was incredible. Desperation got his brain working, let him take a leap of intuition into his greatest breakthrough since Project Rebirth. The War had created its own long-term desperation, forcing him to come up with ever-more-unstable inventions to put off an Allied loss. Last night's panic was different. He'd needed to win Peggy's war, before those injuries killed her. And he'd done it. He'd done it!

Looking up at his friend, Howard realized Jarvis didn't give a rat's ass how he'd done it and, more to the point, he didn't understand why.

"She was dying, Jarvis. I'm sorry we couldn't talk about it first, but you were still out cold." He looked at the bandages that covered his friend's head. Jarvis should still be in the hospital, but now was definitely not the time to nag him about safety. "Our best medical science wasn't going to save her, but tomorrow's will." He paused. "Farther ahead than tomorrow, really."

Jarvis heard the sheepish tone in that last remark. "How. Far. Ahead."

Howard looked back down at his notes, guessing that he'd be needing advanced medical treatment soon, himself. "Fifty to a hundred years."

Jarvis' murderous look was wiped away by shock. "You're mad. Good God, I helped you. Margaret helped you."

Howard was used to people calling him nuts. He hardly noticed it anymore. Jarvis saying Peggy's name , though. That grabbed his attention. "I'll get her back."

Howard started writing the letters he needed to bridge the future.


	5. Chapter 5

Peggy sighed. It did seem unlikely that she'd dream of such ugly future architecture. She looked away from the formerly pleasant view out the penthouse, and looked down again at the pages in Howard's unmistakeable handwriting.

Howard's mad gamble had saved her. And he'd used HYDRA's technology to do it. He'd written nine more copies of this letter, sending each into the future via lawyers and bankers who counted on his continued goodwill, as well as a few trusted friends. Colonel Phillips' niece had delivered this one, with its explanations and intricate instructions, over twenty years earlier. Young Anthony Stark had sussed out the method in his father's madness shortly after leaving university (for the third time).

It struck her that Howard was extremely lucky he'd had a brilliant heir available to receive these missives. Oh, dear. Perhaps it wasn't luck at all. Suddenly horrified at Howard's proclivity to use others, she resolved never to bring up this subject with Anthony. This poor child, she thought, before realizing that he looked nearly double her own age.

"So, Honorary Nephew, it seems the genius medical treatment that was pretext for my arrival has been got out of the way. Bit of an anticlimax, that."

Tony chuckled. "Bored with modern technology already? Yep, you haven't changed a bit. Um. Won't change. Arggh. Time-travel verb tenses give me a headache."

"I am certain you will recover."

Now, Howard's son proposed to send her back. Insisted upon doing so, in order to preserve the time stream/continuity imperative bollocks that she found so tiresome in speculative fiction. This future didn't look like a terribly attractive place, so she had no real quarrel with leaving it. More than that, Peggy knew her two closest friends needed her back in 1946.

"So, what do you need me to do, Tony? I don't see any infernal HYDRA gadgets in the immediate vicinity, which makes me wonder why you had me wake up here."

"It seemed smarter to show you where and when you were, from the get-go."

"Smarter than…?"

"Well, smarter than trying to trick you into thinking you were still in the 1940s. That would just be dumb." Tony smirked, and his quiet lab-coated friend hid a smile at what was evidently a private joke. The friend set a small table beside her bed, then added cutlery and a plate with recognizable scrambled eggs and toast, to her relief. She snagged bites as they spoke.

"I agree. That would be idiotic." Tony's renewed glee at this comment gave her the distinct impression that she'd insulted someone of import. "Thank you for your sensible candor. So. When do we start? Have you everything you need to duplicate your father's improbable feat?"

"Not yet. I've got to borrow something, and my friend's picking it up… from a distance."

"The cube Howard recovered, when he was looking for Steve?" Tony looked shocked. She handed back Howard's letter. "Your father was vague enough to protect the cube from the uninformed, but the description is clear enough. Who's keeping it safe?"

Tony looked chagrined, then recovered what seemed to be his default attitude of mischief. His friend, eyes wide in warning, said "No, Tony—"

"An alien. An alien prince, actually."

"Aliens. Of course. Obviously, I had not descended far enough into comic book purgatory. Fighting Nazis and Communists was so straightforward," Peggy sighed. "Which reminds me," she said, abruptly grim, "I realize you don't wish to muddy the previous century with future knowledge, but in light of your openness concerning extraterrestrials, perhaps you'd be willing to enlighten me about one subject."

"Maybe." Tony looked worried, and glanced toward the doorway to the next room, before turning his back to it.

Masking her newborn curiosity about what was in the next room, Peggy asked quietly, "Atomic bombs? Have more been dropped, since Japan?"

"Nope!" Tony looked relieved at the subject, and his relief made him positively gossipy. "In fact, I hear you helped prevent LA from getting nuked by bad guys. Which I personally appreciate, since I'm wild about Malibu. Aaand… I recently saved New York from a nuke. Launched by the 'good' guys."

"Tony! Stop it!"

"Bruce, this part's okay. Aunt Peg told me that story, and she made it sound like she had a tip that sent her there. And knowing about New York won't change the 50s.

"Oh. Smashing." This situation was putting her out of her depth. Her comment inexplicably provoked a guffaw from Tony.

"Smashing! Indubidubidubitably! Smashing!" he repeated, pointing at Bruce, who looked like he'd swallowed a lemon or been told a bad pun.

Thinking that Tony's mood might spur him to grant further insights, she handed her empty plate to the cautious Bruce. "Thank you so much. Is there a bit more toast available?" She attempted to look weakly famished, in spite of the curiosity-induced adrenalin that was making her quite alert.

"Sure." Bruce frowned at Tony, but left to get the toast.

"How did you cope with an atomic weapon?" Peggy put a bit of flattering awe into the question. She thought it very likely that Howard's son would have an ego to match his brain, similar to his father's.

She was met with a gratifying grin. "I'll show 'ya." Thereupon he lifted his chin slightly and issued an order to the empty air. "JARVIS, pull up video feed of my derring-do above New York." He looked at Peggy and frowned slightly. "Uh. Kill the audio."

A British voice that was definitely not that of Edwin Jarvis replied, "Certainly, Sir."

Peggy forced herself not to react. He'd named… something… after Mr. Jarvis. It was not he. If she appeared startled by what Tony showed her, he might change his mind about sharing. A small motion picture projected itself across the air directly in front of her. In the projection, a flying robot was grasping a missile on its back.

"That's me, in the Suit." His tone left no doubt concerning theword's capitalization.

Engines attached to the robot – Tony' suit – seemed to be driving it – him – across New York. Within seconds, robot and missile both disappeared into a hole in the sky.

"That's a portal to another galaxy," Tony commented.

Oh good grief, Peggy thought.

Nothing happened. Tony was presently standing in front of her, so he'd clearly emerged; somehow this did not keep her from holding her breath.

After one minute that seemed far longer, Tony's robot-shaped self fell from the hole in the sky, which instantly contracted. He kept falling, until he was caught by an enormous green creature.

"Is that an alien?" Peggy whispered, dazed.

"Um. No." Tony looked embarrassed, of all things.

Bruce entered, with toast. "That's a lab accident."

Tony rolled his eyes. "A lab accident that saved New York! And me, by the way!"

Peggy heard Bruce sigh, but didn't turn around again. A figure in the projected image had caught her attention.

"I'm Okay, Aunt Peg. I mean, obviously. Stop video, JARVIS."

Peggy took one deep breath, then tore off the sensors attached to her. She lunged for Tony's throat, attained a decent choke hold, and used the fork she'd palmed to appropriate advantage, pressing it to his carotid artery. Sorry, Howard.

"Where Is Steve Rogers? Now!"

"That's my girl," a voice choked out. A ghost stood on the doorway, smiling with tears streaking, ignored, down his cheeks.


	6. Chapter 6

Ch. 6

In the next moment, the fork Peggy had been holding to Tony's throat fell, and and she was holding to Steve for dear life.

"You're not real. You're not real. This idiotic hallucination." In spite of her disbelief, she reached up to grasp the back of his head and pull him down to kiss. He felt exactly the same, even smelled the same. It was impossible. "It's not fair. I'll wake up in hospital, and you'll have died again."

"I'm real. You're here. Oh God, Peggy, you're here." Beaming with the stunned gratitude of a rescued castaway, Steve lifted and carried her, as a bride over a threshold, out of the room. They turned the corner of the hall, and passed out of sight.

Bruce stared after them, frozen in shock. He whispered, "Tony, this can't… You've got to…" He was at a loss to say exactly what Tony could or should do. It was just wrong. "She's got to go back."

"She will." Tony had taken a small framed picture out of a drawer in the next room. He handed it to Bruce.

It was a from a graduation. A smiling middle-aged couple flanked a young man in a cap and gown. The woman was clearly Peggy, a few strands of grey hair and lines by her mouth the only obvious marks of age. The tall, thin man on the graduate's left had much deeper lines around both his mouth and eyes. Though his hair was entirely white, the wrinkles looked to be the product of frequent smiles, rather than great age. Delight and pride shown from his eyes.

The young man standing between them, though a bit shorter, was otherwise the spitting image of Steve Rogers.

Nostalgia and envy mixed in Tony's expression as he looked down at the picture. "Aunt Peg asked me to hold onto this for her, after Rogers woke up. She wasn't sure what might happen if he saw it on her nightstand. She didn't want to change anything. Imagine that. Living a life where you wouldn't change a thing."


	7. Chapter 7

It was all real. She was still here, and Steve was beside her. If this was all true, was all that Tony had told her real, as well?

In sleep, Steve's face looked younger, and showed a peace she'd rarely seen in him while awake. As if her observation alerted him, Steve opened his eyes. A quiet smile filled with wonder spread over his face. "Not a dream." He lifted a hand to her hair. "Not a dream."

Peggy silently mourned the happiness she knew would be leaving him.

He saw the change in her expression. "What's wrong, Peggy?" Worry crossed his face. "You don't regret…"

She reached forward to hold him, buried her face in his neck. "No! No, darling. I will never regret the time we've had. Finally." She lifted her head, forced herself to meet his eyes. "But I know I can't stay."

The helpless shock on his face was awful to see. "No. You can. You have to. Please. Peggy. We've given so much. Don't we deserve to take, for once?" He whispered, "Please don't leave me."

"We do deserve more. You, in particular, deserve the world, and I wish I could give it." She could feel a damned tear running down her face. "But Los Angeles doesn't deserve an atomic bomb. Do you trust Tony Stark? Should I believe what he says?" Her voice sounded hoarse.

Steve pressed his lips together, and Peggy could almost hear him arguing with himself to lie. He couldn't, and his expression relaxed, though he couldn't meet her eyes. "Yeah. He's probably telling the truth."

"And how well do you think we could enjoy our life together, here and now, knowing what it cost thousands of others?" She ran her hand across the light stubble on his cheek, memorizing as best she could. "I can no more stay than you could have left the Valkyrie to its mission. Darling, please let's treasure what moments we have — days or hours."

Steve nodded, looking guilty for his earlier greed.

"And let's find ourselves some breakfast immediately. I am famished, for some reason." She was rewarded with the blush she was aiming for. "I hope you still have bagels in this century, because I suspect forks will be off limits to me."

Steve smiled a little. "I go to Brooklyn for them. They haven't changed one bit."

Wearing one of Steve's undershirts that fell to her knees, in addition to soft tracksuit bottoms with cuffs rolled absurdly, Peggy made her appearance in the Superheroes' shared kitchen.

She was greeted with the view of an extremely muscled Norseman reaching for a colorful box of rectangular snacks. The box was happily situated on the top shelf of a cabinet, allowing for an extended presentation of his extraordinary physique. Peggy belatedly wondered if Steve's serum had been duplicated, at last. What would Howard say about his former home, populated with a small army of super soldiers? He would no doubt be tickled pink.

The extraordinary person turned toward her. "Ah! Lady Peggy! I am honored to meet you! The Man of Iron told me of your wondrous journey! I have brought the Tesseract from Asgard to enable your return!"

Her back was to Steve, so she only heard the grin in his voice. "Peggy, this is Thor."

"Oh, indeed." The extraterrestrial prince Tony mentioned. Peggy's face was rather blank, but she managed, "Lovely." I really must stop attempting to make guesses. This time period defies rational supposition, she thought. She was half tempted to curtsy, but opted for a short bow and firm handshake. "Delighted."

His Royal Highness introduced Peggy to the wonders of heavily sugared modern toaster pastries. She found it easy to stop at one bite, as she'd always had a savory, rather than sweet, tooth. Steve proved to be an invaluable asset in the kitchen in this regard. The abundance and variety of food available in this century (in addition to his ravenous altered metabolism) had prompted Steve to learn to cook. He had learnt this with the wholehearted vigor that he'd previously applied to warfare, and the joy once reserved for his drawings. Steve's satisfaction in providing for his team seemed to distract him from dwelling upon her imminent departure. Peggy was relieved to see that her remaining time here might not be overshadowed by the pall of approaching loss.

In short order, Peggy and several members of the Avengers (minus Tony and Bruce) were presented with a feast. Reliably familiar bagels were followed by bangers and mash, then by more traditional American fare: pancakes, bacon, and a large quantity of eggs. Peggy was, charitably, trusted with utensils. She was rather astonished at the amount of nourishment this group required. She wondered if the lithe red-haired woman introduced as Natasha possessed supernatural means of keeping herself slim.

Peggy's musings concerning modern reduction methods were interrupted by the arrival of Tony. "Hey kids. Glad to see you playing nice together. Anybody else give you a reason to stick them with a fork, Aunt Peg?" He was smiling as he said it, so perhaps she was partially forgiven her deadly threat.

She could feel herself blushing. "I'm sorry, Tony."

Mr. Barton, the Avenger who she felt resembled a gymnast, chimed in "Don't worry about it; we've all wanted to do that."

"Several times a day," Natasha added. "Sorry I missed it. Can we do a re-enactment? Could be a fun training exercise…"

Tony rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue at his friends, and Peggy felt herself missing Dugan and the rest of the Commandos. They would be overjoyed to know Steve was alive, and perhaps a tad jealous that he'd found a new team to lead.

"If my peanut gallery's done embarrassing me —"

"We'll never be done," Barton chimed in.

Tony rose his voice and scowled "—Bruce and I have got your ride home ready. But, I've got to introduce you to somebody, first."

"I seem to have time," Peggy said, then groaned at her unintentional joke. She stood and left her plate in the sink. "Though perhaps I am not quite appropriately dressed for formal introductions?"

"It's okay. She's not too likely to judge your wardrobe. You, too, Capsicle. Your input's needed." Tony snorted in amusement for some reason and waved at Steve to join them.

Peggy was indignant. "Capsicle!? Anthony Stark! How dare…How… Dare…" Involuntary laughter bubbled out between her raised hands. "Capsicle! Capsicle. Oh, dear." With effort, she brought herself under control. "I apologize, Steve. That was very cruel." Tears brought up by her laughter made her eyes sparkle.

Steve was smiling at her like his heart was in his throat. "I don't mind. In fact, Tony, you can feel free to tease me all you like, as long as Peggy laughs."

"Oh, I always feel free." Tony started down the hall to the elevator. "Hup to, soldiers. Our guest's not getting any younger. Heh! Yet."

"What on Earth is he talking about?" Peggy asked Steve as they quickened their pace.

"I got no idea. He doesn't exactly make sense, a lot of the time. He's pretty clear in battle, though," Steve added. "Except for some of his jokes."

The elevator took them several floors down, and they emerged in a corridor that could pass muster as part of a hospital. Even the smell was similar. It was much quieter, however. Perhaps Tony had few patients in residence.

"Why do you maintain a private hospital, Tony?" Peggy asked.

"If you want something done right, do it yourself," Tony declared. He seemed to recognize his flippant tone, however. "We — The Avengers — use up a whole lot of medical care. We can't always make it to a SHIELD base or helicarrier in time, so this place is backup. Besides, the public hospitals get filled up with injured civilians anyway, when we're out doing our derring-do."

Peggy wondered what a Shield Base or Helicarrier were, but surmised the questions could wait.

Tony led them to a door marked only with a number, but stopped before going in. "Um. Well. Hm. Here we are."

The sight of Tony expressing hesitation was, apparently, setting off alarm bells for Steve. "Tony. Who's in there?"

Tony took a deep breath. "Your Senior gal pal."

"Tony!" Steve strangled his shout down to a stage whisper, clearly not wanting to disturb the patient beyond the door. "You dragged her out of her nursing home? Why? We could have gone to see her, couldn't we?"

"Because she insisted? Because she Ordered me to? Do you know how hard she can insist? 'Cause I've been on the receiving end for a few decades more than you, kid." Tony's voice became quiet, grasping Peggy's attention. "She was more a mom than my mom was. She wants this. I make sure she gets what she wants." He opened the door.


	8. Chapter 8

The room looked oddly familiar. It was not outfitted as a hospital room at all, but rather as a slightly cluttered bedroom. Peggy's view of the portentous occupant was blocked by her tallest companion. Naturally. Nevertheless, framed photographs mounted on the wall were unmistakeable. Her own parents. Her brother and sister. There was a small table with a teapot and cup. She hadn't seen that teacup with the small rose on it since…

Steve moved aside, and Peggy felt her heart leap to her throat. It was not possible. Hope rushed her forward despite, and infernal tears flooded her eyes.

"Nana?"

The extremely familiar elderly woman on the bed widened her eyes in surprise. "Oh! No. I'm sorry, dear. I forgot about that. Excellent guesswork, however." She gave her guest a consoling smile.

She did not have Nana's voice. She had Peggy's. Revelation dawned. "Unbelievable. I'm still alive? Are you — am I — a hundred years old?"

"Ninety-six next month," Steve piped up, smiling.

Peggy was shaking her head, dazed. "Warfare, espionage, assassins… Howard's ludicrous inventions! I survive it all. Good Lord. And I turn into my Nana, apparently!" Young Peggy's chuckles became slightly manic. She was definitely not giggling.

Elder Peggy rolled her eyes. Junior Peggy sank into a nearby chair. Her chuckling faded as she noticed the pictures on the nightstand beside her. These images were new to her. Children: a boy and a girl. And Peggy, with sensible short hair.

"I thought you should see what you're going back for. It made — will make — leaving Steve behind more bearable." Peggy Senior turned to Tony. "Did you bring the other one?"

Tony nodded, and pulled from his coat pocket the framed graduation picture he'd been keeping out of sight. He handed it over, and Peggy gave it to her past self. Young Peggy gasped and looked across the bed at Steve.

"What? What's wrong?" Steve rushed across the room to look over her shoulder. "Oh my God." He held the bed's metal railing as if he might fall without it. He whispered,"Peggy. I'm not there. Not there for you, not for him." He lost his battle to stand, and sank to the floor. The room was silent save for Steve's labored breath.

"No. No." At first a whisper, then a challenge. "I won't let it happen this way." He stood and glared at Tony. "You have to send me back too."


	9. Chapter 9

The impossible had occurred. Tony was silent. He stared blankly at Steve, his mouth hanging open. Trying to keep her voice level, Peggy asked her elder, "Is that what happens, then?" The photograph had not been taken with Steve.

"No. I'm sorry." Peggy Senior looked from her younger self to Steve. "I am sorry, Darling. You are needed here and now. You cannot give your son what he needs."

"I'll give him everything! What the Hell are you saying?"

"You cannot give him safety. Anonymity. If you went back, Steve, let the world know Captain America had a son, how soon do you think HYDRA would begin hunting him? He'd be a target all his life."

"I'd protect him. I'd do anything," he whispered, his eyes falling to Peggy's stomach.

Peggy Senior's eyes looked centuries old. "You'd spend every moment of your life and his trying to protect him. In this time, you have a team of extraordinary allies to fall back on. Back in 1946, you'd have much less. Would you ask the Howling Commandoes to forfeit their families, their futures, for your son's protection?"

Steve looked stricken, guilty for expecting the sacrifice he knew his friends would have made for him. Both Peggies knew his loyalty to those long-dead friends would trap him in this future, robbing him of seeing his son's childhood. Young Peggy stood and held him. She looked to her older self for reassurance.

"He's had a good life, Steve. A happy, fulfilling life: one with no crushing obligation to save the world."

Steve looked up at her. "He's not a soldier." It wasn't a question.

Peggy Senior nodded. "He just retired from Brooklyn College. He taught in their Art Department."

Relieved joy overtook the despair on Steve's face. "Does he have a family of his own?"

"Four children. Two grandchildren. He understands he had to wait to meet you. I trust he won't have to wait much longer."

A quiet peace settled on Steve. He looked at Peggy, whose newfound pregnancy had struck her dumb. "Will you be alright, Peg? Without me?"

She smiled down at the picture now resting on the bed. "It seems I shall." Fully content with the knowledge of her own guaranteed happiness, she was generous. Looking to her older self, she asked, "And what about you? Hasn't Tony devised a fountain of youth, yet?"

The room's current resident smiled in mischief and nodded at Tony.

"Yeah. I did. Just need the last ingredient." He pointed his chin at Steve.

Steve's eyebrows lowered in confusion for a moment before his expression cleared. He reached for the left cuff of his shirt and pulled, tearing his sleeve off at the seam. Elder Peggy chuckled.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Drama much? Sheesh." He pulled forward a blood-draw apparatus that had rested unnoticed in the corner. "Okay, Spangles, time for your vein drain. Too bad we gotta use needles. Vampires are way more trendy."

Ignoring the teasing as usual, Steve crossed the room to Tony and held his arm up. "You can do this?"

Tony was putting on gloves and connecting tubes and needles that bore no relation to robots. "Pfft. My second-to-last degree was in Medicine."

"Why don't you make everybody call you Doctor?"

"'Cause I'm not a dick. Well, not in that category, anyway."

"But Dr. Banner –"

"Bruce cares about people. Everybody. He deserves the title. I didn't get the degree to help anybody. I got it 'cause it's cool to know stuff." Steve looked at the pending beneficiary of Tony's knowledge, and they both grinned. Tony had done quite a bit to help others. Tony finished his preparations near Peggy Senior and looked up from his equipment.

Embarrassed for not thinking of this before, Steve asked, "How do you know this will work, Tony? You didn't have any samples to work with."

"No. You didn't," Young Peggy put in, remembering her actions on the Brooklyn Bridge, draining the final vial of Steve's blood when she said her goodbye.

Tony looked so much like Howard when he was sheepish. "I… got a sample before you woke up."

"After they got me out of the ice? When I was surrounded by SHIELD agents and doctors?"

Tony shrugged modestly. "I may have distracted Phil with some vintage Cap souvenirs. Anyway, I've got two mice in my lab that are going to live way longer than your average pets, but they don't have super strength. So take it easy when we're done with this, grandma."

"Grandma!" Young Peggy said, alarmed.

"Just a figure of speech." Tony made a final adjustment, and Steve's blood began to fill tubes and mix with a waiting solution. From there, the mixture snaked through the tubes into Peggy Senior's arm.

Steve reached out to hold hold her hand, but as she looked up at him, her expression turned blank, then astonished. "Steve? Is that you? You're alive! You're here. What is Howard doing? Has he brought you back?"

Young Peggy looked on, mute in horrified pity. Tony abruptly turned his back to focus on the equipment. Of the three of them, only Steve had the strength to smile at Tony's patient. "I couldn't forget my best gal, could I?" It sounded like a recitation, familiar with long practice. Younger Peggy could see that her impressive longevity would be a qualified success. At that moment, Elder Peggy turned to face her. Lacking the practical presence of mind to turn her back as Tony had done, Peggy gawped in place like no veteran agent, ever.

Steve saved her from having to speak. "This is… Mary. She's here to help us." Steve's ability to lie had not improved, but keeping the explanation short worked in his favor. Peggy Senior gave herself a tired smile and closed her eyes. She was asleep in a moment.

Young Peggy found her voice. "Is she… often like that?"

Steve sighed. He was still holding her hand. "Some… Yeah. It happens when she's tired, most of all. When she's rested, she'll remember. For a while." The grief in his eyes was heartbreaking, and Peggy remembered the desperate joy with which he'd greeted her only hours before.

Tony broke the maudlin spell, pulling a chair forward. "Have a seat, Gramps. Genius science miracles take time."


	10. Chapter 10

Long, silent minutes passed with only Tony occupied. Finally, he turned from his equipment, satisfied that his "science miracle" would proceed on its own.

"Tony," Peggy asked, "is there anything I can do to… preserve my memory?" She nodded toward her elder self.

Tony looked chagrined. "There are theories. I could show you some research. But. You," he gestured to his patient, "made it crystal clear to me that you didn't want to change anything in your life. Even your health."

Tony seemed to brace himself. "I couldn't stop Jarvis'—." He took a deep breath. "This shit is toast. Nuked toast." He looked toward the door, then at Steve. "You're gonna need nutrients. I'm getting you protein shakes, and you will drink them all. I'll be right back."

Jarvis? What couldn't he stop? Tony appeared stretched past his emotional limit on this subject, and Peggy was loath to add more burdens. She'd ask about Mr. Jarvis later, but perhaps information could be retrieved on another quarter. Just as Tony reached the door, she asked, "Tony? Are there any more photographs I might see? Please?"

Tony stared as if he saw a ghost. Peggy belatedly realized that Tony had known precisely how this moment would pass. Her own future self must have told him. He pointed at the nightstand. "The drawer." His voice was hoarse.

"Thank you, Tony—." But he was already out the door.

In the nightstand, she indeed found a heavy bound album. When she opened it, a sealed envelope lay beneath the cover, yellowed with age. The words For Steven Rogers were written on it. The handwriting was unmistakably that of Mr. Jarvis, though the last three letters of the name showed the tremors of an unsteady hand. If Steve had not been here, she'd have shown not the least compunction about hunting down whatever passed for a kettle in this century and steaming it open. But Steve was here, so she passed the envelope across the bed to him and worked to strangle the frustrated curiosity he no doubt saw on her face.

He appeared adorably confused, but she could not bring herself to assuage his feelings. She pressed her lips together and waited as he tore the envelope open.

He pulled out the letter and read in silence, and Peggy dreamed of throttling him every second this process took. Steve finally looked up, wearing an expression equal parts pride and humility. What in the world had Mr. Jarvis written?

His voice hoarse as if with disuse, Steve began to read the British words with an incongruous American accent..

Dear Captain Rogers,

I am sorry that you are faced, today, with the necessity of making an appalling decision. I do not claim I can imagine your irreconcilable feelings as you come to terms with the consequences you and your son will face. I offer no apology for the decision you will choose, however. Raising your son, Steven, has been one of the greatest privileges of my life. He is a credit to you, to Margaret, and to me. Never doubt that every morning of his life I have been thankful for his presence. He has enriched my world to such a degree that no thanks I can give you will ever suffice. If it is at all possible for me to grant you solace in your sacrifice, I hope this letter may convey my lifelong gratitude. In addition, I hope each photograph that follows imparts its commensurate 1,000 words. I would not exchange one day.

Regarding Margaret. I could no more force her decision than could you. I can only be grateful for it. The knowledge that she will have a second lifetime, in peace and health, tempts me to renew the faith I thought lost in the war. I suspect Anthony will be amused that I see him as a purveyor of angelic miracles. Please convey to him the enormous pride and awe I feel in his accomplishments. A second letter, addressed to Anthony, will accompany this one.

I wish you every happiness in the time to come.

Edwin Jarvis

"So…" Tony shut the door he'd been holding open. Peggy hadn't noticed when he'd returned. His hand shook slightly as he set a tall glass of dark green liquid on a table beside Steve. "Another letter?"

Peggy picked up the second letter that lay in the album. It was addressed, For Anthony Stark. She handed it to Tony. Implausibly, he tucked it into his jacket's interior pocket and proceeded to check on his patient. "Tony?" Peggy found it difficult to believe he could stand to delay reading that letter.

"Aunt Peg, I can't. I really really can't, right now. I've got to finish this." Tony was watching his patient with a grim triumph. Now that her attention was trained on her elder self, Peggy could see the beginnings of an otherworldly transformation. Formerly pale, wrinkled skin looked smooth and flushed. Fingers previously bent with arthritis were straight and healthy. Even her slight frame had begun to appear longer, and she'd lost some of her gaunt frailty.

Peggy caught her breath and whispered, "Shall I tell Howard you've outdone him, or will pricking his ego do the universe irreparable harm?"

Tony snorted. "Nah. I figure we're even. He used alien tech to make time travel work, I cooked up a fountain of youth with almost-alien blood." He smirked at Steve.

"Hey!"

"Really, Tony. Steve is not an alien. Not that there is anything wrong with that," she added, recalling her introduction to Thor.

Tony burst into a brief fit of giggles, and Peggy had the impression of having missed a modern-day reference. No matter. This time, she didn't mind appearing out of her depth. The funereal mood brought on by Mr. Jarvis' letter began to fade. She carried the photo album across the room to sit by Steve.

Studying the photographs from a life she hadn't yet led, she felt herself resting in a borderland state. She should feel gratitude for this supernatural knowledge. It had all happened. Would happen. All would be well. All would be well. Yet.

No. Her stubborn free will reared up. Predestination tripe. "Tony. How did you father die?" His eyes widened and he shook his head.

Steve put his hand over hers. "Peg…"

"And you! Where did you crash? What are the Valkyrie's coordinates in 1946?"


	11. Chapter 11

Tony turned away from Peggy's outraged glare and gave renewed attention to the medical equipment in the corner.

Peggy focused her demands on Steve. "Do not give me that load of bollocks about what I must not change. We change our future every damned day. Where are you? Where are you?"

Steve's horrified, frozen look was melting slowly into hope.

"Greenl—"

Peggy's legs gave out beneath her and she dropped to the floor.

Tony stood behind her, holding a syringe.

Shaking, Steve bent to pick her up and lay her at the foot of the bed. His voice held to a monotone, he said, "Explain to me now why I shouldn't break you in half."

"Because I told him to do it." The voice came from the head of the bed. Elder Peggy was awake, and no longer looked elder. "Years ago."

"Also," Tony added, pointing at the ceiling, "JARVIS, defensive systems. Cool lasers. Except, you know, when they fry you." Peggy rolled her eyes.

Steve forced his mind past the shock. Two Peggys, both young. "The baby."

"He's safe, Steve. And will be so. I was furious with myself for this. It took me years to accept, and long after that to embrace, this choice." She took his hand, forcing his troubled face to look to her steady eyes. "I would not change one moment. And I will not."

Steve sighed, nodded, and looked at Tony. "Are you sending her back now?"

"If you're done threatening me with grievous bodily harm, yeah." He unhooked Steve and Peggy from the blood-draw apparatus and scrubbed his stubbled face with one hand. "Gah! This is why my dad resents me, isn't it?"

Peggy couldn't meet his eyes.

"I thought Fury was a manipulative jerk. You take the cake." Tony unfolded a wheelchair stored behind the room's door, and Steve lifted unconscious Peggy carefully into it. "It's great you forgave yourself, Aunt Peg. Don't expect that from me, any time soon." He held the door open as Steve pushed the wheelchair out. Steve frowned back at her. Her eyes were fixed on the photo album resting on the bed as he let the door close.

They made the trip down to Howard Stark's original lab in thick silence. Finally, Steve's face cleared as he made a decision. "You don't have to do this, Tony. Not this way."

"I don't know. I just don't." Tony paced across the near-empty room, looking down at Peggy, asleep in the wheelchair. "I'm not loving this string-puppet vibe, here, but what's the alternative? Wait for her to wake up, fill her in on everything. Peggy and Dad find you in '46. Dad doesn't hate me..." He stopped pacing. "She takes down the nuke in L.A.; you still fight aliens seventy years later. And you get to know Junior." He looked down at his hands, first noticing how hard they were gripping a steel table. "But Edwin Jarvis doesn't. And his two kids with Peggy don't happen."

Steve's eyes widened. "Oh." He looked down at Peggy. "That letter. He didn't want us to change anything, either."

"Damn." Tony reached inside his jacket and pulled out his unopened letter. He pulled aside a stool and tore it open.

Turning his back to give Tony some privacy, Steve picked up Peggy and laid her out, as gently as he could, on the steel table at the room's center. An object resembling a small canon was ominously pointed at the table, and a familiar blue glow pulsed from it. He knew what they'd have to do. He kissed Peggy gently, afraid to wake her, and whispered, "I'll be seeing you, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Steve turned back toward Tony. The letter was out of sight, but Tony's eyes were red. He pulled out a flask, but didn't open it. "I've gotta do this. Better wait 'til it's over for the binge." He put the flask in a pocket and stood. He looked at Peggy on the table. "She'll need the clothes off. You OK doing that?" Steve closed his eyes and nodded. "Take everything out with you. Everything's set in the control room." He nodded at the large window separating the lab from an adjacent room. He rolled the empty wheelchair into the hall and shut the door behind him.

Desperate to be gentle and respectful, and completely failing to block out the feeling of standing in a morgue, Steve undressed Peggy. He used the small bundle of sweatpants, socks, and undershirt to dry the dampness on his face. It was awful cold in here. He kissed Peggy gently again, then left to join Tony in the next room.

"Okay. Ready." Tony tilted his head. "JARVIS. Time to go."

"Yes, Sir." The lab was suffused in a blue glow similar to, but dimmer than, the Tesseract. The effect continued for just under a minute, by Steve's guess, then stopped. Under the plain white lights of the lab, the steel table stood empty.

"He was the best. The best human being. I was pretty damned jealous of Junior. He got the best father."

"Mr. Jarvis?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks, Tony."


	12. Chapter 12

The hospital room's heavy door was pushed open, and Jarvis was startled awake. His vision blurred, he nevertheless could guess at the nurse-shaped personage approaching. He retrieved his glasses, and her image sharpened before him.

"You, sir, have got to be the most devoted husband I've ever seen! The day shift girls say you're here every day without fail. I just started today."

Oh. She was newly hired. He could not find enough care within him to disabuse the nurse of her assumption. What did it matter what she thought? After weeks of silent waiting at this bedside, he was leaning ever more closely to the opinion that nothing mattered, or would do so.

When she was met with no response beyond Jarvis' heavy-lidded stare into middle distance, the nurse proceeded with her duties. Her unmoving patient checked and the chart updated, she again focused her misplaced exuberance upon him. "Don't you worry, sir. She'll be good as new. She has the two of you to come home to, after all. Congratulations!" Her manic grin bustled out the door with her.

Jarvis' blank incomprehension turned slowly to horror. What had happened? No. The wrong question. Who. Where and when. In some horrid future. He would stop it. The animal that did this… Jarvis felt a pain in his hands, and looked down to see his clenched fists shaking, nails biting palms. He let them open and stood up, looking at Peggy's still face. "It will not happen." Her turned to the door.

In the corridor, hands buried in his pockets, Jack was leaning against the wall by Peggy's door. He was running down a list, in his head, of all the things he could have done different to keep all hell from breaking loose like it had. As usual, the answer was "a lot." He could've gone to see Jarvis in person, right after the call from D.C. He could've sent a protective detail the minute Sousa had told him what he'd found out. He could have made sure Peg was wearing her damned vest…

The sound of the elevator door opening pulled him out of his wallow. Sousa followed his crutch out, holding a bouquet of pink and yellow roses, of all things, in his free hand. Jack smiled at the lucky distraction. "Afraid you're too late, Sousa. We both are."

"What?" Sousa's eyes went wide. "Peggy?"

"No! Jeez. Jump the gun much?" Jack shook his head. It was just too easy to play with Sousa. "Well, not literally, I guess."

Sousa pressed his lips together in a pout, waiting.

"I just meant that our gal already chose a partner." Jack nodded at the door to Peggy's room. "We should've trusted her in that Stark mess. He backed her up."

Daniel hobbled carefully up to the door, peered in through the small square of glass. A nurse was inside, hovering over Peggy's still form. Edwin Jarvis sat in a chair by Peggy's bed, staring at the wall. The nurse was turning to leave. Daniel lurched away from the door with more speed than grace. He landed in a chair by the wall just as the nurse came out of the room, beaming. The smile she laid on them dimmed when she saw the flowers Daniel was still holding. He wondered what that was about. "Ma'am? Is there any change, with Miss Carter?"

"Miss?" She looked shocked, and turned her eyes back toward the door, for some reason. What the heck?

Jack figured a Voice of Authority might get through to this addled nurse. "Yes. Miss Carter, Ma'am. Federal Agent Margaret Carter. Has there been any change in her condition?"

It seemed to work. The nurse snapped out of her daze and answered, "No change" before turning and marching away down the hall. Maybe all those interrogations were making Jack cynical, but he could swear she was holding something back.

"What's she hiding?" Sousa asked.

Ha. Maybe Jack wasn't just cynical. "Not bad, Sousa. We just might take some time to find—"

Just then, Jarvis came out to the hallway. Jack wasn't seeing the meek butler he was used to, though. He was seeing cold fury held back with a hair trigger. Whatever had set him off, Jarvis looked ready to do murder. He also seemed to tower over the other two men, holding himself straighter than Jack had ever seen him. Had he always been that tall? Jack felt an instinct to back up a step, but forced himself to stay put. "Agent? Something wrong, here?"

With obvious effort, Jarvis focused his eyes on Jack. In a controlled, low voice he said, "Miss Carter has been attacked." Jack moved past him, diving for the door and charging in. He stopped short once inside Peggy's room. All was still, unchanged as it had been for weeks. Jack turned to look back at Jarvis and Sousa, who'd followed him into the room. "What are you talking about?" Fear and relief made his voice shrill.

Jarvis stared over Jack's head, to where Peggy lay unmoving. "In the future. Wherever Howard Stark sent her. She is with child."

Sousa found his voice before Jack could. "We'll find him."

Jarvis met his eyes. "Yes. We shall."

"We won't have any clues about where to look 'til she wakes up, though," Jack pointed out.

Some of Jarvis' pent-up tension drained from him, and he lowered himself into the familiar chair by Peggy's bed. "It occurs to me that I may not be granted the time to wait, in this country. I suspect that my superiors will soon demand a full accounting concerning the blind stupidity of my late marriage. If they believe my failure was merely due to incompetence, rather than malevolent intent, perhaps I won't face charges. This time. Exclusive employment as Mr. Stark's butler may be the only option that keeps me here."

"Yeah… About that." Jack looked embarrassed, and Sousa was smirking at him. Jack stared up at a spot on the ceiling. "I never actually informed MI6 about Mrs. Jarvis' possible background. We didn't have proof, you know. I may have forgotten to update the D.C. office, too."

Jarvis sat mute, astonished.

Jack's neck was getting stiff, so he sighed and looked Jarvis in the eyes. "See, when Carter wakes up — and she will — if you're not around, I've got a feeling there'll be hell to pay, and I'll be the one paying it. If my own report put your career in the toilet, Carter just might get mad enough to quit. I can't lose my best agent."

Sousa's grin got wider. "I'm telling her you said that."

Jack snorted. "Go ahead. There's no way she'll believe I said it."

Jarvis closed his mouth, which had unfortunately fallen open.

Jack wasn't done, though. "That said, Agent Jarvis, you budding career with the SSR is not off to a great start. You fooled an oblivious skirt chaser for years, but got played by a pro. You got taken down on your own doorstep. On the other hand, if you were dead weight in the field, Carter never would have brought you in on her one-woman crusade. And Dottie fooled her up close, too. So. You've got a home, here, whether it's in servant's quarters or not. And it looks like we've got your first case lined up. You start when Carter wakes up."

He looked at Sousa. "This stays off the books and out of the files. Nobody hears what happened to Carter 'til she tells us how she wants it done." Sousa nodded, now grim.

"Thank you." Jarvis' voice was hoarse.

Jack nodded. "One thing I'm curious about." His eyes narrowed. "Did Carter spot you as an agent?"

"No." Jarvis almost smiled. "I volunteered the information the day before… this all started."

"Huh. Go figure." Jack rubbed his eyes. "Now, I'd better get back to the office and pretend I work there. You coming, Sousa?" Jack headed for the door.

"Yeah. I'll just find something to put those flowers in." He followed Jack out the door, picking up the roses from where he'd dropped them when he rushed into the room. "You're alright, Jack. Sometimes." Crutch gripped in one hand, flowers in the other, he turned down the hall and took halting steps toward the nurse's station.

Jack looked back at Peggy's door. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just done the dumbest thing he'd never regret.


	13. Chapter 13

Sorry for the delay. Endings are tough.

Ch. 13

Peggy's limbs felt impossibly heavy. The chemical smell that reached her was definitely that of a hospital room. She opened her eyes. In contrast to the white-lit temples of Science she'd recently visited, this room's warm yellow glow softened the view of peeling paint and faint cracks in the ceiling above. She couldn't force breath enough to cry.

Either she'd been sent back, or it had all been a dream. Which was the better option? If it had been a dream, she'd lost nothing. Hadn't lost the chance to save Steve. But if it wasn't, then she'd gained...

Hospital. The baby. A sudden panic beyond anything she'd felt since the war. She had to find out. She had to get up. Damn! She couldn't lift herself!

"Please don't. You are safe, and you must rest." A familiar voice at her side. She could move her eyes, at least. She forced a modicum of calm upon herself. There sat Mr. Jarvis, in his shirtsleeves and with dark circles showing beneath his eyes. She couldn't quite make out the dark smudge along his sunken cheeks, then was startled when she realized its cause. He was unshaven. Some weeks' so. Her reaction to his scruffy appearance was immediately followed by an instinct to laugh at the absurdity of her shock. She had lately survived a gunshot wound (definitely) and travelled through time twice (possibly), yet here she lay, astonished that Mr. Edwin Jarvis had neglected his toilette.

"I am a daft git," she whispered.

"I must insist upon disagreement." Her eyes left his unkept visage. His hands were resting upon the bed's rail.

"Your wedding ring. It's on your right hand."

He looked down at his bare left hand. "Indeed. An oddly comforting transition, not having to leave it off altogether."

"I am sorry, Mr. Jarvis." Though Peggy had never met Anna Jarvis (whatever her real name may have been), it struck her that the woman's ghost would likely inhabit her friend's thoughts for years to come. Steve's memory had done the same to her. Now, how much more affecting would that memory be, knowing he was alive? Might be alive…

"Was it real? Have I been gone?"

Mr. Jarvis kept his face still, as if he couldn't decide upon an answer, and wished to give nothing away. This would not stand. "Tell me, Mr. Jarvis."

He remained silent, pursing his lips and looking down.

"Do you honestly expect to spare my delicate feelings with a lie? Answer me at once."

He forced his eyes up. "Howard Stark sent you… somewhere. He claims he sent you to some future date. Your grave injuries have seemingly been treated. You are… healthy." Mr. Jarvis' expression was positively grim at this glad news.

Oh. My. What must he think? "Mr. Jarvis, I've had a rather complicated week." She clamped down her teeth over the burst of hysterical laughter that threatened to emerge. And now she felt tears coming. Good grief! Wasn't this hormonal deluge premature? She reigned in her erratic emotions. With relief, she felt her limbs' numbness ebb away. She remembered the lifetime's worth of photographs filling an album. "It went well."

His hand gripped the bed rail a moment, then loosened and moved to cover hers. "Anything that happened to you in the future — can be prevented. Will be prevented. I must ask you for any information that might help. We will track him down."

His tone made his unsaid intention clear. "What exactly do you propose to do, Mr. Jarvis? Murder the grandmother of someone who won't be born for half a century?"

"That is precisely what I propose."

Time travel's jumbled potential consequences gave her a moment of vertigo. She must warn Howard against using this mad invention again.

"Your chivalrous and bloodthirsty plan is unnecessary. Please do stifle all homicidal tendencies for the time being." She rested the hand not held by Mr. Jarvis on her stomach. "Steve was there, in the future. Alive. They found him in the ice and revived him."

Mr. Jarvis stared, and his hand slipped from hers. When he brought himself to speak, his shock was revealed as having nothing to do with miraculous cryogenic stasis. "You returned. You didn't remain."

"I have… unfinished business here." She could feel a passing shadow of regret, and determined to mask it. "In any case, overcrowding would have become an issue. One Peggy Carter per realm of existence is quite enough."

"You were still alive? You met your future self?" She nodded, belatedly relieved to feel more freedom of movement. "Surely your… elder would not begrudge your presence, not deny you a second chance…"

"That second chance will not be the last one. She didn't remain my elder. Young Master Stark administered a concoction of his own making. I saw her… myself… regain youth in minutes."

"Wow!" They both startled at the intrusion. Howard had slipped unnoticed into the room while they were engrossed in Peggy's tale. "The Fountain of Youth. My progeny!" Howard looked positively inflated with paternal pride and ego. "My greatest invention." He sauntered up to the bed. "Hey, Pal. Young Master Stark, huh?" He patted his pockets. "I gotta get some cigars to hand out. Hey, Jarvis, why don't you get yourself a hot meal and pick up a box on your way back."

"You're a bit early, Howard. I didn't ask for his birth date, but from his appearance I would guess you have well over a decade to hone your paternal instincts. Perhaps even two."

"So I'll hold off on the cigars." Howard's face took on an unaccustomed serious expression when he looked at Mr. Jarvis. "You need that hot meal, though." His grin came back. "And a bath." He waved his hand in front of his nose. "Not necessarily in that order."

Mr. Jarvis, seemingly struck dumb, let his eyes bulge out at his rude employer. He then looked to Peggy in silent inquiry. She nodded, and he stood to make an over-theatrical exit.

Howard smiled until the door closed behind Mr. Jarvis, but turned back to Peggy with concern. "Are you Okay, Pal? I got the feeling these docs aren't telling me something, and I really hate that. And maybe you need a better class of hospital." As he sat in the plain wooden chair, he scowled at the walls and ceiling of the drab room. "I picked this one for its top guy, but look at that peeling—"

"Oh, do shut up." Her remark providing instant reassurance of her well-being, Howard fell silent, beaming.

"The medical secret they're withholding is my pregnancy." Howard's mouth dropped open, and his comical stunned expression instantly cheered Peggy. As she realized what her next revelation must be, she felt remorse creeping in on her fine mood. "Howard. Steve was there. Alive. They found him. The serum kept him alive in the ice, and he's still saving the world, in the future."

The open, astonished joy on Howard's face was too soon overtaken by guilt. "They found him. I didn't. Oh, God, Peg. Years, decades in the ice? He wakes up and everybody he knows is gone. He's out there. And he's gonna be a father." He looked up at her. "But you know where, right? He told you, didn't he? Or—. One of them had to tell you." His voice trailed off as she shook her head.

"Steve nearly did. He… was interrupted." How to explain her older self's manipulation?

"I've gotta get back to the Arctic before the summer's out." His eyes lost their focus as he planned his next search for Steve.

"No. Not yet. Just trust me, please." She felt suddenly overwhelmed by the consequences of her foreknowledge. There were too many choices, and she needed time to think about them.

"'Course I trust you, Peg. You really want me to wait?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to give further justification. One priority stood out, fortunately. "In any event, I need to get to California. The SSR had bloody well better have an office out there." This non sequitur was, at least, able to knock Howard out of his immediate gloom. "I seem to be fated to prevent an atomic catastrophe in Los Angeles. I should have demanded an exact schedule. I've no idea when I need to be there."

"Huh." Howard looked preoccupied, and Peggy suspected he was still contemplating a rescue mission. His next thought gave her some reassurance. "I just bought a little film studio out there. It won't be little for long, o' course." His shadow of a grin was brief. "I meant to talk to you about an idea Colonel Phillips and I had about changes for the SSR. We could base it out West...You know, the Coast'd be a nice place to raise a kid. Sunshine, open space. Healthy—once you get that atomic bomb taken care of, anyway."

Peggy's face turned pensive at the thought of the new responsibility she'd barely had time to process. Howard noticed, and his eyes took on a definite gleam as he offered, "I bet MI6 doesn't mind Jarvis coming along. They seem to think that I was dear old Dottie's intended target, for some reason."

"No. Rubbish. You did not know that before I did!"

"Ha! Maybe I should be a spy, ya think? That other boss of his gets braggy with his pillow talk. Told my friend Harry all about how he was snooping on one spoiled American playboy."

"Harry?"

"Harriet. She has the greatest—." He caught himself at her warning glare. "Ears. Great listener. Real empathetic gal."

"I'm sure. How long have you known?"

"Not the whole time. Well, almost all of it. It's not my fault old Freddie couldn't keep his… mouth zipped." He smirked. "You won't tell Jarvis I know, will you? He's really the greatest butler. And he might get hurt, getting back into spying full-time. When he's with you, I know he's okay."

"Tell Mr. Jarvis at once."

"Tell me what?" Mr. Jarvis stood, unsteady, by the just-opened door. He'd not taken time enough to eat, but his damp forehead hinted at a quick wash in the loo. Peggy silently cursed Howard for the childish joke that sent her exhausted friend to worry over his odor ahead of nourishment.

Not meeting his eyes, Howard bounced to his feet and drew Mr. Jarvis away from the door. He waited for the butler to settle on the chair. "I know about your job. Your other job."

Mr. Jarvis closed his eyes. "And so I attain new heights of failure."

Howard kneeled beside the chair and shook his arm. "No. No! Your lousy boss failed you. The other one. He blabbed about your very important mission (me) to impress his lady friend. You, on the other hand, have successfully protected me for years. You and Peg made a great team and cleared my name. Where would I be without your help? Locked up? Hanged?" One hand idly loosened his collar. He stood. "How many people's lives you think you saved, tracking down my cockeyed inventions? My stuff is insanely dangerous, but you've stuck with me anyhow, because you're as crazy brave as Peg. Old Freddie and MI6 don't deserve you, and I don't trust them to help keep you safe."

Mr. Jarvis stared at him. "Are you seriously proposing that I continue my charade as your butler? And extend my dismal record with MI6?"

"'Course I am. It's a great cover. Why waste it? Besides, as long as the SSR doesn't know that I know, you won't be stuck at a desk or dealing with paperwork all day." He looked at Peggy as he said the last bit.

"He has a point," Peggy said.

Howard went on. "I'll hire extra staff; you'll have all the time you want for secret spy stuff, and no boring grunt work. 'Sides, Peg might need an extra pair of hands she can trust, for the next, oh, eighteen years or so."

"Howard," Peggy warned. This line of pressure was verging on emotional blackmail.

"You're also one of the three people left on this side of the world who I can count on. Stick around. Please."

"Who's third?" Peggy's question sounded less kind than she intended.

"Well… Colonel Phillips. Though the one time I called him Chester, I thought his stink-eye was gonna turn me to stone. So… Two and-a-half friends, maybe." He looked hopefully at Mr. Jarvis.

"I fear your trust is misplaced. Thanks to my careless oblivion, you have been living in imminent danger."

"I think you've got that backwards, my friend. Anna was supposed to be a threat, sure. But being married to you changed her mind. Dottie shot her for it. Did Sousa tell you what Anna said, in the end?"

Mr. Jarvis nodded.

Belatedly, Peggy remembered. "She wanted to be Anna."

"Yeah." Howard's eyes lost their focus for a moment. "That explains… Huh. I arranged some folks' travel documents during the war. They were all named Breuer, but nobody traced back to Anna."

Peggy smiled. "How many is 'some,' Howard?"

"A few dozen. They were pretty spread out — Hungary, Poland, France. Never did find anybody who knew Anna. Central Jersey's got a lot of Breuers in their phone books, now." He finally noticed his respectively amused and astonished audience. "What? We're always hiring. It's pretty tough to convince anybody to move to Jersey."

"Yes, of course, Howard. They did you a great favor," Peggy assured him.

He looked dubious but glad to end the subject. "I'm getting some real food up here, and you're both gonna eat it. Delmonico's. Fine. Too heavy. Okay, okay. The Waldorf. Gabe's lamb; you wouldn't turn that down." He backed toward the door. "And salmon. It's good for your head. Eat it." His eyes were sad and scared as he shouldered his way through the door.

"Despite his flaws, he's a good sort. He means well." And despite of her miraculous visit with Steve, Peggy had missed her friends, here. "What say you, then? Will you persevere with us, erratic and reckless as we are?" She felt equal parts foolish and reassured in asking her question. She knew what his answer would be, based on that extraordinary future photo album. She would live her life. Not Steve's — not for some time. She placed her hand on his, where it rested on the bed rail. "Edwin?"

His surprise was immediately followed by a familiar look of peaceful joy. Familiar because she'd seen it in a hundred family pictures. "Yes. Yes, Margaret."

"'Peggy' won't do, hmm?"

The smile lines near his eyes deepened. "It never seemed regal enough."


End file.
